Ladies, too, who preferred the current order of things, would surely be unpleasant. Agatha Grayson would certainly be in attendance at her son’s ball. The woman who had barely forgiven Kate, her son’s wife, for daring to wed the man without a title to her name. Lady Charlotte James was possibly brazen enough to attend in spite of the animosity she shared with Kate. Others would also be spiteful.
But if there was one thing I knew, it was theton. Hiding would spark more gossip and cruelty than a brief shameless entrance followed by perfectly respectable behavior ever could. I had once been the belle of every ball I attended. I could resurrect those dazzling skills for one last performance. For William’s sake.
He knocked on the open door frame, now fully done up.
“You look very handsome tonight. Are you ready? I believe I heard the carriage.”
“I am. You’re stunning, love. You always are. Know I’ve been a bit of an arse tonight, but I’m proud to be on your arm.”
“Thank you for doing this. Even though you would rather eat a shoe.”
“Celine, there is nowhere I’d rather be than where you are. Would I rather be elsewhere with you? Yes. That bed, specifically. But if you’re attending, I want to go with you. Eat a shoe—honestly. It’s a privilege being with you. Not a hardship.”
His mutterings about difficult, ridiculous women, or a woman specifically, followed us all the way down the stairs and into the carriage. I made no effort to interrupt. It seemed to distract him from his nerves.
And I understood his sentiment. It was certainly no hardship to watch him, listen to him speak, feel his hand along my lower back, and perhaps—probably—almost certainly—even love him.
Thirty-Two
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816
WILLIAM
The carriage shudderedto a halt in St. James’s Square, an unwelcome reminder that Celine was right. I would, in point of fact, rather eat a shoe than attend a social gathering with theton. Much as I had complained about the mask at the last ball, I longed for it now, for the anonymity it provided.
Celine was stunning—not that such a thing was an unusual occurrence. But she was certain to attract the eye of every person in attendance, all of whom would then turn to me with a disapproving glare.
When the footman opened the carriage door, I rose, but Celine caught the hand that had been in hers since we set off and tugged me back.
“Any time you wish to leave, just let me know.”
“I… Thank you.”
“I mean it. Promise you will tell me?” She straightened one of my out of place curls, brushing her thumb along my cheek. Tender.
“I promise.”
“All right. What do you say we start a scandal?”
“May as well. I have no other pressing engagements this evening.” I stepped out before handing her out myself.
I had never been inside Grayson House before, but the furnishings were new and quite fashionable. The young viscountess’s doing most likely. We followed along the corridor as directed, Celine’s hand tucked into the crook of my arm. She smelled of warmth and spice.
“The library is down that hall if you wish to escape. Knock first though.”
“Kit warned me to knock as well… What, precisely, would I walk in on if I forget?”
“Michael and Lady Juliet met in that library.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Will, if you managed to get me on the terrace at Wayland’s once again, what would you do with me?”
Nothing appropriate for a public— “Ah…”
The receiving line had been short, and we only received a glance or two from the couple in front of us. It was too much to hope that would be the lot of it.
We reached Lord and Lady Grayson at the entry to the ballroom. Even if I had never met her, I would certainly know Lady Grayson by the similarities to her brother. Small stature, pale skin, full lips, dark hair, and wide eyes, though hers were blue whereas his were dark. Her husband, in contrast, was one of the broadest men I knew, and while not the tallest, he was near as much.
